Page 35 of In the Dark

“Fuck. Breathe, man.” I watched as one grabbed another, his blood spraying from his neck everywhere. “Just breathe.”

And then their footsteps retreated and there was silence.

Silence and pain.

My shirt dampened with blood as I pressed my palm against my stomach, trying to keep pressure, trying not to panic, trying not to cry because weakness was the one luxury I wouldn’t allow myself.

They’d left me to die, and maybe I would, but before I did, I picked slowly at the crack in the desk and the wood moved and fell away. Under it was an SD card and I tucked it away deep in my pocket.

Then, I let the loss of blood overtake me and passed out.

8

Jasmina

THE FIRST THING I tasted was iron. It was thick and that metallic tang of blood. It was my own, coating my tongue as an instant reminder of the state I was in when I woke.

Then came the screaming.

Tía Perla’s sharp, jagged shouts were loud enough to pierce through the gray fog of what was most likely a concussion.

“Monte! ¡Dios mío! There’s so much … the floor, her dress, it’s all ruined!” Her voice hovered over me, frantic and high-pitched. “She’s white as a sheet! She’s going to die before the week is out! Call an ambulance!”

“No,” I croaked. The word came out loud enough as I forced my eyes open, the light from the chandelier above feeling like it was stabbing into my brain. “No hospitals.”

Hospitals were for people with clean lives. Hospitals were for people who didn’t have a Diamond Syndicate contract with a Knight hanging over their heads. If I checked into an ER with three puncture wounds in my gut and a face that looked like it had gone through hell, the paperwork would reach Callahan before the first stitch was tied.

I couldn’t be weak. Not now.

“Jasmina, look at me.” Monte’s voice was lower, steadier, but I could hear the tremor in it as he moved a basin of water near my head. “You’ve lost a lot of blood, mija. You need a doctor.”

“I need … the vet,” I breathed, clutching the side of the sofa. “Call the one Paolo used. Tell him to bring his kit. No questions.”

The next few hours were a blurred montage of pain, meds given by the vet, and me fighting consciousness. The man was stern, professional, and his hands smelled of nicotine and cheap antiseptic as he worked, from what I remember. I don’t know if he was a veteran or veterinarian. Not sure it mattered much.

But I couldn’t recall much other than that at one point, he said, “Give her more propofol. I gotta get in there to explore the abdomen to rule out visceral trauma.”

I heard my uncle ask, “What does that mean?”

“To see if her GI tract is damaged. If it is, we got a problem.”

Everything went black then.

When I woke again, there were bandages around my body and whispers in the room. “She has three deep puncture wounds to the abdominal wall, contusions, likely a fractured rib,” he muttered. His voice came from above me, and when I opened my eyes, the man was pressing a button on the IV machine next to the bed they’d had me on. A tube ran from it to my arm. “I flushed her abdomen. They missed her organs. You lucked out there. The only trauma is to her uterus. I sutured it up the best I could. She should still get X-rays. A CT scan. The internal bleeding could—”

“I’m fine,” I croaked from my bed. Then I forced myself to sit up and look down at the bandages. The movement sent a white-hot flare of agony through my core. I could live with a few scratches. I could hide the bruising on my jaw with enough foundation.

The vet didn’t look me in the eye as he snapped his latex gloves off and murmured, “You’re fine right now. You’ve got your morphine drip, but once that’s out …” He shrugged and handed my uncle a couple of bottles of pills. “Make sure she takes antibiotics and these pain meds.” He looked back at me. “That blade was serrated, young lady. It did damage …” He shook his head.

“Don’t sugarcoat it,” I said quietly, needing all the facts.

“There’s a high probability, depending on how it heals … if it heals … The scarring could make it impossible for you to—”

“I get it.” My aunt and uncle were wringing their hands now. I held the doc’s gaze. “No reports, right?”

“No reports. But the body will be its own report. You should get an ultrasound and … There is significant hemorrhaging that I can barely control with the equipment I have here.”

I cleared my throat and winced at even that movement before I told him, “You can go.”